


post game

by 26miledrive



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26miledrive/pseuds/26miledrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carey takes advantage of the Canadiens' win in Boston with a little post-game fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	post game

**post game**

"You can keep glaring at me all you want," Carey says, tying the last of the knots in the rope around David's right wrist. He pats David on the side of the face, a little too hard. "It's not going to make me untie you. It's just going to get me hot."

"That must be why you like being the goalie in Montreal," David mutters, tugging on the rope -- it's chafing against his wrist, and that just makes him angry all over again. Why the fuck had he agreed to this?

"What, because I like tying up Bruins and beating them? Anyone would like that, because everyone hates you." Carey is straddling him, which normally David would like, but he's also looking smug and arrogant as fuck, and David -- well, okay, David likes that too but not when it's at his expense. "The reason I like being the goalie in Montreal, babe, is how they're going to treat me now that we beat you in Boston. All sins are forgiven. _Excuse-eh us, Carey, we love you._ It's how they are, trust me. You'll see when we shut you out on Saturday."

David glares at him, fingers curling into his palms, nails biting into the skin. "I'm going to score a hat trick on you," he mutters darkly. "Two of them."

"Ha, ha, you are _not_." Carey shifts on top of him, runs his fingers along the edge of the rope on David's wrist. The slight touch is electric-warm and makes David pull away, trying to resist feeling anything good. "Stop that." Carey's fingers tighten, thumb rubbing down his forearm. "You can't get away, Krejci, that's the point of the ropes."

"I thought it was because you think you are a cowboy." David tries it again, just to be contrary, but Carey's knots hold true and all he manages to do is get them tied even tighter. " _Do prdele._ "

"Don't make me put on my hat -- I said _stop_ that." Carey grabs both his wrists, presses them down to make his point. "You lost our bet, you have to do what I want, remember?"

"I remember," David snaps, glaring at a spot on the wall to Carey's left. "But I don't have to like it." He's being petulant and he knows it, but he can't help it. He wants to stay caught up in the frustration from the night's loss and his team's continual inability to play hockey like the Stanley Cup Champions, not enjoy himself. Of all the disappointments this season, there's not much worse than losing to their rivals on home ice, in a game that featured an utter lack of passion or energy, and ending up dead last in the standings because of it.

Just thinking about it makes him twist, angling his body and trying to buck Carey off of him. "Get off of me. I'm not in the fucking mood for this."

"Whoa, whoa -- hey, cowboy, remember?" Carey moves easily with him, fluid and graceful, thighs tightening on the outside of David's hips. "And it doesn't matter if you're in the mood, that's the _point_. Tying you up and fucking you when you're mad you lost to me is what I wanted, and you promised."

"I didn't lose to _you_ ," David says hotly, hips bucking again. Unfortunately that feels really, really good and he catches himself before he moans -- but because today sucks, Carey clearly notices and smirks about it.

"Hey." Carey gets David's chin in his fingers, leans down, forces him to meet his gaze. The look Carey's giving him is familiar; David saw it every time he got close to the net and tried to shoot the puck tonight. "Yes, you did. You _did_ lose to me, David. And now you're tied up and you can't do anything about it. You lost in every way possible. That makes you -- " Carey puts the fingers of his other hand on David's forehead, in the shape of an _L_ , "--a _looooser_."

Carey is maybe, just maybe, the worst boyfriend in the entire world. "Fuck you, you only won by a goal."

"Well, fuck _you_ \-- you only knocked me out of the playoffs by a goal."

David narrows his eyes, ropes pulling taut as he strains against them. "That game mattered, though."

"They all matter, David," Carey says quietly. "And you know it." He kisses him, but David is obstinate and keeps his mouth resolutely closed. Carey pulls back and smiles, and there isn't anything nice about it. It's the same one he gives David on the ice, the _we are nothing more than rivals, here,_ one. "It felt really good to beat you, you know."

"Well, good for you. It's not like it's that hard to do right now."

"Losing to you in the playoffs in Boston _sucked_. One fucking goal. _One_. I wanted to throw myself off the parking garage, remember?"

David goes still for a moment to stare at him. " _Ne_ , you wanted to get drunk and have me fuck you in the back of my car, remember?"

"That, too. Letting you fuck me after your team just knocked mine out...seemed about the same level of self-destruction. David, seriously, _stop_ , you are not going to get out of this until I let you." Carey grabs at his chin again. "Calm the fuck down, you know you're going to like it."

That's probably true, which makes this even more infuriating. "I don't _want_ to like it!"

"Oh. Well, then what are you complaining about?" Carey bites him on the mouth, hard, and that gets David's blood hot immediately. "Seems like we're both getting what we want." Carey bites him again, slowly pulling back and sucking on David's lip before letting it go, eyes on his the entire time.

"I want you to get off me, untie me and get the fuck out."

Carey presses his forehead to David's, gives him that goalie's stare again -- intense, determined, unblinking. "Too fucking bad," he says, and this time when Carey kisses him, David kisses him back, channeling all his frustrations and restless anger into it.

"That's...mmm, yeah, be mad at me, come on," Carey pants, hips rocking forward, hands sliding up David's forearms to his wrists so he can curl his fingers around the ropes. "I don't mind. Must suck being in last place."

"What the fuck is your problem?" David growls, and when Carey tries to kiss him, David bites _him_. "Other than you're an asshole."

"I'm the goalie for your rival team that just beat you at home," Carey points out. David feels Carey grin against his mouth. "God, saying that gets me hot."

"Good for you. It makes me want to hit you."

"I know. That's what I want." Carey is mouthing at his neck now, clearly intent on using every single thing he's picked up about what David likes to drive him crazy. His tongue traces the outside of his ear. "You to want to, I mean. And then not be able to do it."

"Why the fuck do you want that?"

Carey laughs, warm against his ear, and David can't stop the noise that gets out of him. "Because I'm a dick?" Carey raises up slowly, gives him a long, obviously pleased look. "Or because you're really, really fucking _hot_ right now? Take your pick."

David tilts his head back, eyes half-narrowed, speculative. Carey is grinning that wild half-grin of his, and his hair is doing that stupid spiky thing in the front that makes him look like he should be riding a skateboard to an _All Time Low_ concert. Or maybe Keith Urban, since it's Carey. "First one."

Carey makes a buzzing noise and not-so-playfully smacks him again. "Wrong! The answer is actually _c_ , all of the above."

"You didn't give me that option."

"So? Be creative. Aren't you the --" Carey makes air quotes with his fingers, " -- _playmaker_? That's what you do, right?" Carey bats his eyelashes, smile saccharine-sweet like some kind of poison that tastes good until it kills you. "I mean, theoretically. When you're not losing."

David smiles back at him. It's the same smile he gave Mike Richards in the handshake line this year after the Flyers series. "Yes. That's what I do. Like how you theoretically stop goals, except when you don't."

Carey rolls his eyes. "You can't just turn my chirp around like that. That's lame. Also, say _theoretically_ again. I like how you say words that start with a _t_."

"So I'm bad at hockey, you won't let me up off of this bed you have me tied to--"

"Ha, see? _'Dis bed you have me died do_ , that's how you said that."

"--And now you're making fun of my accent. What the fuck am I doing with you, anyway?"

"Right now? You're going to get laid, if you'd stop being a sore loser and a cranky woe muppet." Carey shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. "Just in general? I dunno. Hoping if you fuck me good enough, I'll let a few of your shots go through?"

David gives him a hostile glare. "If you even thought about that, I'd beat the shit out of you."

"Really? With the patented David Krejci-one-punch fighting move? Because that didn't work so well for you, last time."

"I'll try harder. Thorty's giving me lessons."

"Uh-huh. How are you going to hit me, you're tied up. Also tell Thornton to keep his hands to himself, he has too many boyfriends already, he doesn't need mine."

That would make David smile if he weren't still so pissed off. "I'll hit you when you don't expect it. During the game on Saturday, it's not like your teammates will do anything about it."

"Hey." Carey pauses, head cocked thoughtfully. "No, okay, you're right about that. Whatever, I'll hit you with my stick, I don't even care. I'm a monster."

"I saw that on _NHL on the Fly_ ," David says. "Milan said that was how to tell you were fucking a Bruin."

"No, that's how you tell you're a goaltender in Montreal. But man, just between you and me, forbidden arch-rival boyfriend of mine, somebody better get my back next time that happens or I will start fucking up their plus-minus percentage on purpose. Like I did to you and your boys tonight."

"That wasn't on purpose," David says without thinking. "That's what you're supposed to do."

Carey's eyes go wide. "Oh, my god, is it really? I'm supposed to the stop the puck and shit? So you're saying I was just doing my _job_ when I turned away more shots than Marchand and Seguin took while dancing shirtless on table tops? Also did I tell you how glad I was that wasn't you, because I would have dumped you on principle if I saw that on the Internet."

"I win a Stanley Cup, and you would dump me pictures of me partying? You have lived in Montreal too long, _můj mazlíček_. Nothing is ever good enough for you."

"Pretty much. And not for partying, just for looking dumb while doing it. Also you totally just called me that Czech word -- the one that isn't a swear word, don't think I don't know the difference, Krejci -- so I don't think you're mad anymore." Carey pokes him on the chest. "Can you be mad some more? I'm not lying, it's really hot."

David actually isn't mad, which isn't fair at all. He's mostly just tired and disappointed and a little turned-on, and more interested in liking where this is going instead of being angry about it. "I am mad about how I'm playing, not at you."

"I know that. But you're still hot." Carey moves lazily on top of him, eyes falling half-closed. "I never think about you and me on the ice, but it was hard towards the end of that game not to look over at you on the bench and think about what I was going to get to do to you. About how you'd look, all pissed off and tied up..." Carey's thighs tighten, and he grinds down against David a little harder, more purposeful.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really...fuck, Krejci, do you realize since we hooked up, most of the time it's _you_ that gets to be all smug and _oh sorry I'm a winner Carey, now suck my cock,_ and shit?"

"No, because you're smug all the time," David points out, but he's starting to see things a little differently, starting to understand what it is Carey wants from this and _why_. "And also hot," he adds, pushing his hips up.

"I know. I'm like, a god of hockey and smug and hot."

"You have two wins, Carey."

"Three, dumbass, way to pay attention. Same as you. Oh, my god, do you realize we're both doing worse than the Leafs? The _Leafs_ , Krej. We're being outplayed by our common enemy. Let's join forces and destroy them. Like in X-Men 2, when the smart hot people joined up with the evil mutants to kill that military dude and his soldiers who didn't have a personality."

"We probably would be outscored by Phil Kessel."

"Ha! No, wait, shut up -- that's not funny if it actually happened to your team. Also Komisarek might give me a concussion just to get even."

"Milan will keep him distracted."

"There's something they won't show on _NHL on the Fly_ , eh?" Carey laughs, and David doesn't want to admit it, but that happy grin and bright eyes are a nice change -- the recent losses had taken their toll on Carey, no matter what he said to the media.

It's not that he begrudges Carey being pleased about a win, because he certainly doesn't want Carey to lose _all the time_ \-- he just wants Carey to lose to _him_. So it's probably fair that the reverse is true, though that doesn't make it any less annoying. "So you want me to angry about losing to you, is that it? Then you should joke less and also get on with it, yes?"

"Mmm, yeah. Pissed off, fighting it, growling at me in that sexy Czech -- _Czech-xy?_ \-- accent of yours, about how you don't want to be tied to the bed, you want to...do whatever you do when you're upset, instead."

"Remember what we did after game five of the finals in Vancouver?"

Carey smiles, slow and hot, kisses him again all open-mouthed and eager. "Fuck, yeah."

"That's usually what I do."

"So you're saying, when you're upset you do _me_." Carey laces his fingers with David's, arches his back and rocks his hips slower. "How sweet. But let's see what happens when you're pissed off and I do _you_." Carey pauses, his mouth still pressed to David's, and his next words are more cautious, barely a whisper. "Is that okay?"

David almost says _yes_ \-- because it is, it's more than okay -- but instead, he bites at Carey's mouth and says, "Just do it. Don't ask."

Carey reacts to that with a hard thrust of his hips, and David can feel his cock harden almost immediately. "Fuck, that's -- yeah. Okay. I'm not going to ask." There's the slightest upward inflection at the end of that sentence that sounds very much like he _is_ asking.

Sometimes, Carey is very Canadian.

"Right. Make me take it."

Carey groans, puts his face in David's shoulder, grinding harder. "Gonna. I am, I -- " Carey stops talking and bites him, and that's exactly right, it's just the thing David realizes he wants. He hisses, pulls on the ropes and this time he's not trying to get away.

"Harder, do that -- do that harder --"

Carey stops, predictably, and licks instead of bites. "Maybe I changed my mind, and I don't want you to like this after all."

David makes a sound of pure frustration, which sounds a lot like, "Fuck you, I hate you," and Carey _laughs_ and bites him harder. It feels good because it _hurts_ , gets at all the tension inside of him, knotted up tight like the ropes Carey's tied around his wrists.

"You're mad, huh." Carey moves lower, biting, looking up at David while he does it. His eyes are amused but they're warm, and now this is nothing like how Carey looks at him on the ice.

" _Ano_."

"You're having a really terrible start." Carey kisses his way down David's chest to his stomach. "Just one more loss and then you can start winning until you play us again -- _ow_ , you fucker, do not try and kick me like that or you are not going to get the rest of what I've got planned."

David sucks in a breath as Carey's mouth goes lower on his stomach. "It might be worth it."

Carey gives him a look. "Oh, would it."

"Maybe." David narrows his eyes, abdominal muscles tensing. "Prove me wrong."

"You're awfully bossy for a guy who's tied up." Carey's mouth is brushing over his skin, barely touching, breath warm and driving him _crazy_.

"You like it." David's nearly lightheaded, waiting for the bite he knows is coming. "Carey --"

"Can you say _please_? You're usually pretty polite, you know, for a Bruin. So grunt something at me or I will sit here and be annoying. You know I can do it, David."

Carey's not looking up at him at the moment, so he misses David's brief smile. "Yes, I know. You annoyed me the first time I met you."

"Because I was all, _sorry, no goal for you, Czech guy with the pretty mouth?_ "

"Because you were _you_. And you thought I had a pretty mouth?"

"Um....actually, yeah, that's the first thing I noticed about you. I told Subban you looked like you would give good head. And then he hit me and said _thou shall not say such things about thine enemy._ "

"But he's sleeping with Marchand."

"Yeah, I mentioned that. He said something about how that didn't count because they'd been sleeping together before. Iffy rules to this whole fucking your rivals thing, eh?" Carey looks up at him, and the smile he gives him makes David tense again, but for an entirely different reason. "You do give good head." He says it fondly, like he might actually mean _I'm glad you're here_ or something equally sweet. He pats David on the stomach when he says it, too.

David just looks at him, holds his stare for a minute and then says in a soft voice, "Please, Carey."

Carey's eyes flash hot, and his breath catches at that. "Please, what, David?"

"Please...bite me again."

"Where?" Carey's mouth brushes over the spot, the muscle on his lower stomach, where they both know he's going to bite him.

"Ah...right there?" David gives the ropes a tug, moves restlessly against the mattress.

Carey shakes his head. "You have to work on your pillowtalk, babe. Maybe say _bite me right there, please, Carey_ in Czech."

" _Polib mi tady, prosím_ , Carey."

"Mmm. Yeah. See, that was hot." Carey bites him in one sudden move, sinks his teeth in hard and David arches up against his mouth, makes a noise from the pain. Carey holds on, doesn't stop, and then starts sucking on the bite which hurts even worse.

"Ah -- _Ano, to je pravda, kurva_ \--"

 _Carey finally stops biting, and that's its own kind of pain, skin oversensitive to the sudden rush of air. "I know that last word by now, Krej. Hey, you want some more? Say more stuff in Czech. Like... _Carey you are good at biting and you should do it some more._ " _

David thinks he's kidding, but Carey drums his fingers on David's stomach after a few moments and clears his throat. "Say it out _loud_ , Krejci."

Carey starts mouthing over to his other side, which makes David go tense again in anticipation, and he nips but doesn't _bite_ quite yet, he's clearly waiting. David's eyes touch on the bite on his other side, red and angry and perfect. " _Carey, jste dobrý v kousání a vy byste měli dělat víc._ "

"Hell, yeah. Hey, do you think you could be loud this time? Wait, I mean....David, be loud." Carey smacks him on the stomach, then lowers his head and bites.

David isn't sure he could have been _quiet_ , exactly, because Carey bites hard and for some reason this side hurts worse than the first one. But he makes a sound this time when he arches up, and he mutters in Czech because English is far too difficult at the moment, and even his Czech isn't making any sense.

"Fuck." Carey sits up, climbs back on top of him and starts kissing him before the pain from that last bite has faded. "That's -- tell me you want me to fuck you."

David bites Carey's lower lip. " _Chci, abys mě ošukal._ "

Carey is pulling at David's boxers, which is all he's wearing, and trying to kiss him at the same time. "Yeah, mmm, tell me -- something else that's hot."

David kisses him back, lifts his hips to help. He's so hard he hurts, and Carey's fingers brush over him when he pulls his boxers off, pulling a groan from him. " _Budu skóre mnoho cílů na vás v sobotu._ "

"Sure, yeah, I'll do that. Fuck, I want you, why is this taking so long --" Carey is twisting and trying to get out of his jeans, bending and kicking like he's trying to make a save in the net. Which is funny, considering David just said _I am going to score many goals on you on Saturday_.

Amused, he arches up and rubs suggestively against Carey's thigh, just to be contrary. It turns out that being contrary is actually pretty fun, he can see why Carey likes doing it to _him_ so often. " _Pamatuji si, když můj tým porazil v prodloužení vy?"_ He asks Carey if he remembers when his team beat Carey's in overtime, to which Carey responds, "Yeah, and I'll fuck you good, too," which is weirdly appropriate and also turns out to be incredibly accurate.

Carey is all over him, kissing him and knocking things off his bedside table, nearly ripping out the drawer in his haste to get at the lube. He's also telling David to say more things in Czech, but having Carey naked and wild-eyed and flushed, crawling all over him...it's not easy to think in _any_ language, so he's basically uttering nonsense. The things he's saying while Carey gets his fingers inside of him and works him open with a hard, steady pace -- those aren't words in _any_ language, but Carey seems to be understanding them just fine.

And Carey,he talks the whole time he fucks David; grabbing David's arms even though they're pinned, fingers shackling his wrists, like he wants to feel the ropes against his skin. Whatever he's saying doesn't make much sense, but David's not really listening to the words, just the rough cadence of Carey's voice, the harshness of his breathing. "Yeah, you're -- fuck, I like this, so fucking good -- _fuck_ , I want -- yeah, _yeah_ , that's -- ohhh, do that again, David, fuck, _fuck --_ "

Carey's not holding back, he's fucking him hard and it hurts like the bites did earlier, a good pain, enough to loosen those knots of tightly-coiled tension. Carey shifts and he's suddenly hitting him perfect, and the pressure builds until it's too much -- Carey's hand finds David's cock and it's not long before David arches up hard, shoving himself towards Carey, heat-bright light flashing behind his eyes as he comes.

Carey kisses him, hot and desperate, shoves his hips forward and comes with a trapped moan. He half-falls on David after it's over, panting into his shoulder. David closes his eyes and lays there beneath him, drifting off until Carey moves away and the cool air draws him out of his post-sex languor. His wrists are chafed, and that's going to suck tomorrow for practice, but it was totally worth it.

"You are _not_ scoring three goals on me in Montreal, Bruin." Carey's fingers are gentle as he unties the ropes, patiently working the knots free.

"I'm going to try, Hab," David tells him, his yawn turning into a wince as he brings his arms from up above his head.

"Duh." Carey flashes him a grin, all sated and pleased with himself, and David rolls his eyes and kicks him with his heel. "Hey! Goalie, hello, you can't do that."

"You're not a goalie right now." David watches him roll the rope up, coiling it over his arm. It's actually pretty hot, but he's way too exhausted to do anything about it. Right now, anyway.

Carey finishes with the rope and tucks it into his bag, gets dressed and runs a hand through his hair -- that's pretty helpless, but he doesn't seem to care -- then sits next to him on the bed again. "I gotta go. It's late." He reaches out and traces his fingers over David's shoulder, eyes following the light touch.

David's watching his fingers, too. This isn't unusual, Carey is actually fairly affectionate, but he looks like he's stalling. Whether it's because he doesn't want to leave or he has something to say, David isn't sure.

"I'm, um. I know you're frustrated. That you're not playing...like you want. I know how that feels, and it sucks." He sounds almost apologetic, as if that is somehow his fault.

"Mmm. Yes. And here you are, taking advantage of my slump."

Carey looks up and scowls, hits him in the shoulder. "I'm trying to be nice, here, David."

"I know, _mazlíček_." David sits up, looks around for his shirt. "Let's not talk about hockey, hmm?"

"But then what do we talk about? We have nothing else in common. No hobbies."

David grins at him, puts a hand around the back of his neck and tugs him in to kiss him. "That is not true. We both like your cowboy hobby."

Carey snorts a laugh against his mouth and kisses him back. "My cowboy hobby."

"Maybe next time you could ride a mechanical bull."

"Come visit me at home sometime, and I'll ride a real one."

David pulls back and pats him on the side of the face. "Thank you, I'm flattered."

Carey laughs, leans in again and bites his lower lip. "I really, really have to go. I'll see you Saturday, eh?"

" _Ano_. Do you want me to drive you to your bus?"

"Nah, I'll get a cab. If you drive me, we'll just make out in the car and you'll have to drive me to Montreal. Someone will think you abducted me. I don't the Montreal police have recovered from that many 911 calls at a time, so..." Carey kisses him one last time, slow and heated, rests his forehead against David's. "You'll play better. I know you will. But not until after Saturday, I want to tie you up again."

"Probably I would let you do that at other times without having to lose at hockey." David bites _his_ lip this time, hard, which distracts them for a few minutes until Carey's phone beeps.

Carey pulls away, breathing hard and flushed. "Goddamn it. Why do you have to be a Bruin? You couldn't play for like, the Islanders?"

"The Islanders."

"They've got a better record than you, don't give me that look."

David shoves Carey's shoulder, but he's smiling. "You like I'm a Bruin, admit it."

"Only when we're beating you. Okay, I'm really leaving. Tell Pouliot something insulting in French for me." Carey pauses at David's bedroom door, looks at him and points. "Stop looking hot, I need to go."

David is still sprawled on the bed, and he waves -- the same mocking gesture Carey gave the Boston crowd earlier.

"Don't copy my moves. See on the ice, loser. I'll be the one in the mask, stopping all your pucks."

"I'm going to snow you."

"Only if you win, baby." Carey winks at him. "Only if you win."

David looks around for something to throw at him, but Carey's out of his bedroom before he can find anything that will hurt more than a pillow or his sock. He can hear Carey laughing on his way out, and if he has a stupid smile on his face, at least no one's there to see it.


End file.
